Randy White - Haunted

Gradually, as I burrowed through the early months of 1864, I understood the seriousness of Ben Summerlin’s plans. I also began to suspect he might have something to do with Civil War graves on the Cadence property. If true, it was one of those weird bonding coincidences that hinted at the orderliness of family destiny and fate.

Captain Summerlin and I had something else in common: he, too, had been worried about spies getting into his journal. More and more, he protected himself by scribbling out words-names, usually. Names of associates and also the name of the river he had visited that summer, a river that fed into the Caloosahatchee from the north, which couldn’t be far from Labelle. It was here, I suspected, that he, Capt. Gatrell, and Gatrell’s brothers were setting a trap or laying bait-I wasn’t yet certain.

Was it the Telegraph River? I combed some of the illegible entries for meaning but stopped when I heard voices outside. Birdy was saying good night to Brit. A minute later, she tapped at my door.

It was one forty-five in the morning, but she’d seen my light. I expected her to have a devilish smile on her face when I answered.

No… my friend the deputy sheriff was scared.

“You won’t believe what he just told me,” Birdy said, pushing her way into my room. “I’m surprised you’re still up, but this is important.”

“Who, Brit?”

“Of course. That’s why I made him leave early.”

“ Early? Did he do something stupid?”

“Brit’s not the problem.” Birdy looked at the bed, saw the journal, then noticed her own bare feet and legs and the baggy Red Sox T-shirt she was wearing. The shirt was on backward, which we both realized at the same instant.

“Shit,” she muttered.

I said, “At least you had some quality time.”

“Not as much as I wanted. Are you ready for this?”

“I’d prefer not to hear details, if you don’t mind. Well… maybe a few.”

“Lock the door and use the dead bolt,” she told me, then plopped down on the bed, full of nervous energy. “Remember when Brit mentioned a crazy person but he wouldn’t tell us the name?”

I was fiddling with the lock, my back to her. “He’s not a gossip. Good for him.”

“It’s Theo.”

It was so late, I had trouble processing that. “What do you mean?”

“Theo-he’s not really an archaeologist.”

“What?” I spun around, then rechecked the dead bolt because of what she’d just said.

“Theo Ivanhoff. He’s the neighbor Brit said is slap-ass crazy . Those were his exact words. Do you remember?”

“Is he sure?”

“You were right about him from the start. Or maybe he is an archaeologist-Brit doesn’t really know him-but Theo has lived in the area his whole life. Not ten minutes ago, I happened to mention the name Ivanhoff. Talk about putting the brakes on a fun evening. Christ, Smithie, now we have to figure out how to handle it if Theo shows up for our tour in the morning. Or maybe we shouldn’t go. Brit offered to come along, but he’s got some sort of class in Port Charlotte.”

I was still a little dazed. “You mean everything Theo said was a lie?”

“That’s what he’s known for. Pretending to be someone he’s not.”

I said, “I didn’t trust him. Right off, I didn’t trust him, but this is hard to believe.”

“I’m still working it out myself. The feds wouldn’t hire someone local to do a a local archaeological survey. I know enough about government to know that. And remember the nasty way he talked about the head archaeologist? Brit says Theo has told people he’s a heart surgeon and a commercial pilot, an Army Ranger, all kinds of crazy things. That’s what he does-he’s an egomaniac. Not dangerous, exactly. The locals put up with him and all. Theo’s… functional , you know? Plus he’s a druggie, the type who experiments. Brit was worried enough to set me straight.”

“Experiments?”

“I’m not sure what he meant by that either.”

I checked the door again before taking a seat. “Theo knows you’re a deputy sheriff. It was stupid of him to lie to us.” I looked at her. “I don’t think he’ll show. And if he does? Well, your Aunt Bunny owns the property. He’ll be trespassing.”

Birdy muttered, “What’s stupid is me having the hots for a freak like that,” then thought for a moment. “Trouble is, he didn’t actually do anything illegal. Unless… unless he doesn’t own that camper trailer. Brit only knows him by reputation, so I didn’t bring that up. But the thing about owning a chimpanzee? That’s a definite possibility-dangerous animals of some type. Maybe we can nail him for that.”

I was lost again. “You’re talking about the snake place?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t get it. Does Theo live nearby? The RV park makes more sense. I picked up on that-everyone knows him there.”

The look on Birdy’s face: Whoops, I left out something important.

Yes, she had. Theo owned the RV park and the Slew Vaccine company. Actually, Theo’s father owned it all, but Theo had grown up working there. His father was old now and seldom left the property.

“Theo won’t admit what his family does,” Birdy said. “That’s another weird thing about him. Like he’s ashamed. Remember the nasty things he said about anyone who would go into the vaccine business? But all the locals know the truth. The only thing Theo’s an expert at is getting high and taking care of the RV park-and snakes.”

“There was something creepy about him from the start. A snake handler, good lord.”

“I should either start trusting your instincts, Hannah, or find myself a nice, dependable score buddy. This is no way to live. Seriously, I think my hormones are out of whack.”

I asked, “A score- what ?”

Birdy looked at me and waited until I said, “Oh. Well… I’ve been a little antsy myself.”

“Never mind. Point is, I all but threw myself at a strung-out psycho or just an egomaniac-not much difference. Part of me doesn’t ever want to see him again, but I also wouldn’t mind cuffing the bastard and reading him his Miranda rights. So what do we do in the morning?”

We talked for a while longer before I said, “Your aunt is paying me to do a job. I think I should be there with a camera and hope Theo shows up. The attorney wants pictures of Civil War artifacts and bones. I don’t mind going by myself if you’re not comfortable.”

Birdy said, “Not a chance. I’ll carry my Glock in my purse.”

BELTON MATÁS, standing outside the rope at the dig site, morning dew and an equipment bag at his feet, called to me, “If you’re looking for Dr. Ivanhoff, he just left. Almost like he was avoiding you, the way he ran off.” He motioned toward trees that sloped toward the river. A glimpse of Theo’s shoulders was what I saw, a man in a hurry, head slouched low.

I replied with a careful, “Good morning, Belton,” then waited until I was close enough to speak in a normal voice. “I’ve got some news about Theo-if you don’t already know.”

Matás knew, but not in a guilty way. I could tell by the way he smiled. “Did you figure it out yourself? Or did you run into the real archaeologist? That’s what I did.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Leslie Babbs from Louisville. Just now, he walked back to his truck for something. Don’t worry-we’re going to get our tour, but he’s not enthusiastic.” Then, confidentially, Belton added, “He strikes me as a fussy old codger for a man not even my age. But he’s no fraud. I’ve read his papers-Leslie Babbs knows his Civil War.”